Irresistible Forces

by Catherine Asaro

  Tarzan didn’t seem suspicious of all the questions. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, come to think of it, I’ve seen a tall bald guy with him a few times.”

  Bald guy? The acid level in Jared’s gut hit nuclear. His contact with the local P.D. was tall and bald. “Seems an odd choice for a bookkeeper.”

  “Or a boyfriend.” Tarzan chuckled. “Millman could probably take his pick in here, being the boss and all.”

  Jared coughed. Well, Millman couldn’t have his pick of every one.

  “That bald guy is one scrawny sumbitch, too.”

  That did it. Charlie. The tall, scrawny, bald guy had to be Jared’s link to the local police. That raid the other night had been arranged to rattle Jared. Charlie was obviously on the take, and Jared was in deep shit.

  His blood turned frigid, and his breath caught and held. Fear shot through him. For Margo.

  “Break a leg.” Tarzan flexed his muscles and headed toward the stage door.

  “Yeah.” Trying not to stare at the small door at the end of the dressing room through which Henry Millman had disappeared, Jared headed for the bathroom and made a call on his encrypted cell phone. Within a few moments, he’d notified his boss about his suspicions. By the time he took the stage tonight there would be three more agents on site, and more on the way. Turned out the feds already had Millman under investigation for various financial dealings. This case could be wrapped up a lot faster than anyone had hoped.

  A few moments later, he stashed his phone and took his place in line with the other Eroticops. With any luck, this would be his last performance. He was more than ready to hang up his G-string.

  Jared Carson had other things on his mind now. He couldn’t deny the truth. From the first moment he’d seen Margo sitting in the audience, he’d known. This was destiny or fate or whatever. He would pursue her as he should have before she ever married Nick. He should have swallowed his pride back in college and told her he was sorry, that he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. Loving her.

  Then he would leave his life with the DEA and pursue his original career goal of small-town law enforcement. He wanted to buy Margo her old Victorian fixer-upper and to make babies with her. Lots of babies.

  He wouldn’t take no for an answer either. Not because he was a jerk, but because he’d felt her response. He’d seen love in her eyes, in her smile, and had tasted it in her kiss. They belonged together, and they always had.

  If only Nick…Jared released a slow breath. No, he couldn’t blame Nick any longer. Losing Margo had been as much Jared’s fault as anybody’s. Nick was dead, and Jared planned to let him rest in peace. Their old rivalry had been stupid when Nick was alive, and continuing it after his death was doubly stupid.

  Margo mattered. The future mattered.

  He heard Tarzan’s yell and barely suppressed a shudder. Damn.

  Margo and Steph occupied the same table they had last time—center stage. Except, this time, Margo wasn’t a bit reluctant to watch the dancers, knowing that very soon Jared would be there.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. Everything he’d meant to her in the past had come flooding back as if they hadn’t been apart all these years. As if Nick…

  No. She wouldn’t think about Nick now.

  “I wonder what’s keeping Raquel and Mrs. Brown,” Steph said as she slid a drink across the table toward Margo.

  “I’m still trying to figure out why you invited her here tonight.” Margo wasn’t looking forward to seeing the unusual woman again so soon.

  “I called to invite Mrs. Brown, and she said Raquel had PMS and would probably enjoy it.” Steph grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

  “Hmm.” Margo glanced at her watch again. “Maybe they changed their minds about coming.”

  “Mrs. Brown said Raquel had a hair appointment. I guess those gorgeous locks take longer.”

  “What gorgeous locks?” Margo stared past her sister as Mrs. Brown and a very different version of Raquel approached the table between sets.

  Steph looked over her shoulder, then turned her wide-eyed stare on Margo. “Yikes! She got scalped.”

  A more subdued Raquel slid into the empty chair next to Mrs. Brown. Raquel wore jeans, a blue sweater, and very little, if any, makeup. Her flaming hair curled around her face. She didn’t look a thing like the fancy woman she’d been this morning.

  “Look what she did, just because of a little PMS.” Mrs. Brown kept looking at Raquel and shaking her head. “Shame. What a shame. Such beautiful hair.”

  “I donated it to a charity that makes wigs for kids on chemo.” Raquel caught their server and ordered a Glen-fiddich single malt scotch. “I don’t miss that mop a bit.”

  Nick’s favorite label… Margo shook off the memory of Nick and smiled. “I think donating your hair to charity was a very nice thing to do.”

  Raquel shrugged and her cheeks pinkened. “I hope they put it to good use.”

  “You missed Tarzan,” Steph told Mrs. Brown. “But the Eroticops are next, and they are to die for.”

  Especially one of them. Margo had to stop mooning around about Jared and concentrate on her job. Tonight, her notes would make sense, and Jared had promised to find a likely dancer for her to interview.

  “So, Margo, what did old Fred want when he called earlier?”

  “Just letting me know he’s passing through town tomorrow and wants to have lunch.” Margo drew a deep breath. Her father-in-law had never been particularly fond of her—especially after Nick decided to settle in her hometown instead of returning to Riley’s Crossing. “He doesn’t have any other family with Nick gone.”

  Raquel made a choking sound, and Steph patted her on the back. All the color had drained from Raquel’s face.

  “Are you all right?” Margo asked.

  A pained expression crossed the redhead’s face. “Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” The server delivered her drink, and Raquel ordered another before she took her first sip. “I, uh, take it you were talking about your father-in-law?”

  “Yes, exactly.” But how did Raquel know that? “Nick was his only son, and I think he’s lonely. He misses him.”

  “Will minor miracles never cease?” Raquel downed the scotch with one smooth flick of her wrist.

  “Do you know Fred Riley?” Steph asked, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

  “I’m not sure I ever really knew him at all.” Raquel rested her chin on her fist, her expression wistful. “I, well, never mind. We’re here to have fun. Right?”

  Talk about avoidance. Did Raquel know Nick’s father or not? Margo exchanged glances with her sister, knowing Steph was also confused by the ambiguous answer. And how had Raquel known about the painting, or where Margo lived?

  “Did…did you know my husband?” she asked, uncertain how or why the question had left her lips.

  “I…” Raquel’s gaze shifted around the table. “Yes, yes, I know—er, knew—Nick.”

  “I thought you just moved here,” Steph said.

  “I lived here until two years ago, but now I’m back.” Raquel flashed a nervous smile.

  Two years ago? Raquel had left town about the time Nick died. She studied the woman’s guilty expression, and a sinking sensation struck.

  No. She couldn’t accept that. Nick had never given her reason to believe he was unfaithful.

  The lights and sirens signaled the beginning of the next act, and the crowd went wild, forcing Margo to shove her suspicions aside. Nick was dead, and thinking ill of him was wrong. Still, how did Raquel know so much?

  Once the dancers entered the stage, Mrs. Brown leapt to her feet and gave a wolf whistle that would have put the most sexist construction worker to shame.

  Steph laughed, and Margo turned her attention to Jared. He was dancing for her again—now she knew that for certain. No one else in the room knew his real identity, or why he meant so much to her. Tears scalded her eyes, but she blinked the liquid traitors away, foc
using instead on holding Jared’s gaze.

  Watching him reminded her again of his kiss. Her body softened and heated, hungry for him. And why shouldn’t she indulge her desire? After all, she was single, and it wasn’t as if Jared was a stranger. He’d been her first lover. Her first love.

  Her only love?

  Guilt shoved its ugly face to the forefront of her mind again. If any other man had attracted her attention, would she feel this way? The answer came swiftly—a resounding no.

  Oh, but she had loved him. And…she still did. Her heart raced ahead as she gathered that knowledge about her like a protective cloak. She wanted to invite Jared home with her tonight. Could she find the courage? And could she forget the past enough to think of a future with him?

  Nothing ventured… A smile curved her lips, and she blew Jared a kiss before she lost her resolve.

  “Well, isn’t that special?” Raquel muttered.

  Margo girded herself and faced Raquel. A myriad of emotions danced in the woman’s eyes—regret, sadness, and something more.

  “He’s Margo’s,” Steph told Mrs. Brown.

  “Lucky girl!” Mrs. Brown laughed. “If my hormones were thirty years younger, I’d give you a little competition.”

  Raquel extended her glass toward Margo, her eyes misty. “I wish you the best in every…way.” Her voice broke, and she drew a shaky breath.

  “Thank you.” Margo wasn’t sure what else to say. Why did this strange woman’s words mean so much? Why was Margo relieved to hear her say them? It was almost as if she needed Raquel’s approval to seduce Jared. Ridiculous.

  Of course, what Margo really wanted with Jared was a lot more than merely a night of sex. Her face flamed, and her heart did a pirouette.

  Nick is dead, Margo. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do whatever she wanted with Jared or any other man. She’d been a good wife to Nick. Hadn’t she? Wouldn’t he forgive her now, knowing she was still in love with Jared?

  No, probably not. Though she’d loved Nick in her own way, she hadn’t been blind to his faults. He’d been pretty self-centered, and competitive to the extreme. She sighed. Especially with Jared.

  Somehow, she had to come to terms with all this, because she couldn’t let Jared just walk out of her life again. She needed this—needed him—in her life.

  Give me strength.

  Determined, she turned her attention back to the stage, watching Jared do things with his hips that set her insides ablaze. She bit her lower lip and sighed.

  “Ooops.”

  Margo glanced over to find Steph shoving napkins toward Raquel, who had spilled her drink.

  When Margo met Raquel’s gaze, a jolt went through her. The woman’s eyes had disturbed her before, and now she knew why. Without all the makeup, Raquel’s eyes were just like Nick’s.

  Impossible.

  Raquel’s expression grew solemn, and she gave Margo a sheepish grin as she pushed to her feet. “Be right back.” Raquel left the table to weave her way toward the rest rooms.

  “She’s wearing sneakers,” Steph said. “Amazing transformation. Kind of like a butterfly in reverse.”

  “PMS.” Mrs. Brown sipped her tropical beverage, her gaze never leaving the stage. “Can I take one of them home with me?”

  Steph laughed. “Now, what would Mr. Brown think of that?”

  “He won’t care. He’s been dead ten years.”

  He won’t care. He’s been dead… Mrs. Brown’s words echoed through Margo’s brain. She was alive. She had a right to lead a happy and fulfilled life.

  With anyone she pleased.

  Would Nick’s ghost always lurk between them? Would his memory always create this surge of guilt in Margo’s heart and mind? Did Jared feel guilty about Nick?

  And who the hell was Raquel Eastwood?

  Deciding to focus on the present for now, she looked at the stage again. The set ended, and Jared blew Margo a kiss as he followed the other dancers offstage. Somehow, she would find a way to come to terms with everything.

  Right now, though, Margo had to find out why and how Raquel Eastwood had looked at her with her late husband’s eyes. And how she knew so many things about him.

  “Running to the rest room.” Without giving her sister a chance to respond, Margo rose and made her way through the crowd on wooden legs. Had she lost her mind? This was crazy—whatever this was.

  Reincarnation? Margo didn’t know much about such things, but it seemed to her that people weren’t reincarnated back into the same lifetime they’d left. Were they? Wouldn’t that disrupt the space/time continuum? Or something?

  Gibberish. She squared her shoulders and turned down the dark hallway leading to the rest rooms. A movement at the end of the hallway caught her attention—another door opening and a redheaded woman slipping through it.

  Margo didn’t hesitate. She shoved open the same door and realized it was some kind of storage area, with another door leading outside. What was Raquel doing back here?

  “Come on, Séamus,” Raquel said to the stacks of boxes. “Cut me some slack here. She’s on to me.”

  Was Raquel talking to herself? “Who’s Séamus? And who’s on to you?”

  Raquel slowly turned to face Margo. She drew a deep breath and held her hands out at her sides, palms up. “He’s…an angel.”

  Margo looked around the deserted room again, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear anything else. “Your…guardian angel?”

  “I guess you could say that, with the emphasis on guard. Never gives me a moment’s peace.”

  “Who are you?”

  Raquel stared at Margo for several seconds. “I think you know.”

  Margo shook her head. “No, I don’t.” She backed toward the door. This was insane. “You have Nick’s eyes, and you know things Nick knew. But he’s dead.”

  Raquel nodded, and resignation filled her expression. “And he’s going to stay that way.”

  “Who are you?” Margo repeated, reaching behind her for the doorknob.

  “Séamus, let me be myself now.” Raquel glanced toward the ceiling. “Please?”

  Margo needed air, and Raquel needed a good psychologist. “I’m going back to watch the show now,” she said carefully, not wanting to upset Raquel. “How about you?”

  Raquel just stood there, staring at Margo, taunting her with her dead husband’s eyes.

  “Are you Nick’s sister?” she finally asked, though she knew Nick didn’t have any siblings.

  Raquel shook her head, her smile sad. “I’m—”

  The door behind Raquel burst open, admitting a gush of chilly evening air. The door obviously led to the parking lot. Men’s hushed voices and lots of grunting and groaning followed. Raquel shoved Margo behind a stack of boxes.

  They waited while the men hauled several boxes into the room and piled them beside the door.

  “Boss says we can retire on what this shit’ll bring,” one man said. “I’m ready for that.”

  The door Margo and Raquel had entered through opened, and two more men entered. “This all of it?” one man asked.

  “Yeah, boss.”

  Margo’s reporter antennae twitched. Was this the drug operation Jared was investigating? She peered around the edge of a box. Two of the men wore suits. They could have been doing a Laurel and Hardy imitation—one overweight, one tall and thin.

  All she had to do was keep quiet until they left, then she could give Jared at least a partial description. Maybe that would help his investigation.

  And then she would deal with Raquel—whoever she was.

  Margo swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering those eyes. Nick’s eyes. How could it be?

  Something soft brushed against Margo’s legs. She knew from its purring that it was only a cat, so she forced herself to relax. She’d always had a cat as a child, but with Nick’s allergy, she hadn’t had one since. Maybe she’d get a cat now.

  Raquel, less than a foot away from Margo, glanced do
wn at the friendly furball.

  And sneezed.

  8

  Nick tried to toe the cat away from his shapely leg before he sneezed again, but when someone knocked away the box in front of him, he figured the cat was the least of his problems. The walking allergen scurried away, leaving the scene of his crime.

  The man knocked another box aside and made a grab for them, but Nick dodged him, grabbed Margo’s hand, and dragged her out of their brief sanctuary and toward the door. “We were looking for the ladies’ room. Wrong turn. Sorry.”

  An iron grip stopped Raquel’s hand just shy of the door knob. “Shit,” Nick said.

  “That ain’t very ladylike,” the man taunted. He shoved Nick and Margo toward the center of the room. “Got us a couple of problems here, Boss.”

  Henry Millman had been in Raquel’s office just yesterday, and he had called earlier this afternoon. Raquel and Margo were in big trouble here, unless the lecherous old fart didn’t recognize the attorney he’d tried unsuccessfully to proposition. Getting rid of Raquel’s hair and makeup had been brilliant. Nick had turned down the retainer Millman had offered and what he’d called his “magic in bed.” Weasel.

  Millman narrowed his already beady eyes and shoved the omnipresent, unlit cigar into the corner of his mouth. “Don’t I know you?”

  Nick shrugged, but Millman took a step closer, jabbing his cigar toward Raquel for emphasis. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He turned his attention to the two men who’d hauled in the boxes. “Tie ’em up for now. After the place closes, take care of the problem.”

  Nick was supposed to be here to help Margo—not get her killed. What a mess he’d made of things. Again.

  “Waitaminute here,” he said, desperate. “All we did was get lost on our way to the bathroom. Is that a crime around here?”

  A tall, skinny guy stepped into the light. Nick recognized him immediately. He’d always suspected Charlie Fritz was on the take, and now he knew. He’d had more than a few run-ins with the guy in court as Nick—never as Raquel. At least that was some consolation.

  Séamus, get us out of this.

  Nothing. Now that they were in really serious trouble, Nick’s guardian had pulled a vanishing act. Just perfect.